Disclaimer The following is a work of fiction. Characters, names, situations, events, and locations described in this novel are purely the invention of the author's mind, or are used fictitiously. Any sort of resemblance to people - living or dead, names and locations is purely coincidental. This story is copyrighted and cannot be taken or displayed without the permission of the author. Before Your Heart Breaks by S. Goodfellow Jon was asleep on the couch when she poked her head into the room. Well, passed-out was more like it, sprawled on his stomach with one arm twisted underneath, the other hanging over the edge of the cushions, the backs of his fingers brushing the floor. His head was turned so she could see his face, or half of it anyway, peacefully cushioned amid that ridiculous mass of hair, eyes closed, mouth hanging slightly open as his breath slipped evenly, in and out. He looked so small, so...vulnerable, exhausted; a pang of guilt clutched at her heart and she hovered there in the doorway, a fist pressed against her mouth as she shut her eyes and ran through the words in her head again. She had to. There was no other way, she'd already been over it a million times in her mind and she had to say something before it killed both of them. Crossing the room lightly, she knelt by the sofa and gently stroked his back. "Jon..." she whispered it, not wanting to startle him; he stirred with an incoherent mumble and stretched, his face clenching in a grimace, then relaxing again as he settled back down at a slightly different angle, still asleep. She couldn't help but smile a little. Tracing her hand up over his shoulder blades and under the mane of curling hair, she gave the base of his neck a little squeeze, then turned her hand over to brush the backs of her fingers against his cheek, whispering again, "Jon, wake up." His face tightened again briefly, summoning the lucid will to open one eye. "Hmmm... Dottie?" he mumbled puzzledly, squinting both eyes in a blink now, drawing up his dangling arm to push himself up, and wincing as pins and needles hit the one he'd been lying on. She drew her hand back with a sympathetic smirk, letting him rearrange himself. He flopped back on his right hip, propping his head against a cushion since his right arm was, for the moment, useless as a support. "What're you doin' here?" he whispered, somewhat mystified, though a gentle smile couldn't help but touch his face. He reached out with his good arm, nudging at her elbow, then grasping at her shoulder, to draw her closer. She let him, with an inward sigh, unable to resist though the warmth in her chest clenched tightly in anxiety. He slid his hand from her shoulder to the back of her head and touched his lips to hers, just the tip of his tongue sealing the kiss, then turned his face into the curve of her neck, a sleepy smile pressed against her collarbone, snuggling. This was too much. "Jon," she repeated, no whisper this time, though she kept her voice low in consideration to the other people about the house. She pulled back, only half-successfully holding back a smile as she brushed the hair out of his face. He blinked owlishly at her. "We need to talk. Can we talk now? Outside?" Sensing, perhaps, that something more important was afoot than just his girlfriend sneaking up to say hi, Jon pushed himself up to sit fully upright, rubbing a hand over his eyes. A burp rumbled from his chest, pinched from lying so long in such an awkward position, but he managed to keep his mouth shut, and let it out as just a short sigh. "Uh yeah, okay," he mumbled, scratching his chest and looking around for his shoes. He found them where he'd kicked them off, halfway under the couch, and leaned over to retrieve them and lace them on. "How'd you get in here, anyway?" "Your mom let me in," she replied, neutrally, biting back emotion that she didn't want to unbottle in here. He nodded simply and pushed himself to his feet, pausing to roll his head, his neck cracking audibly. More awake now, he grinned and grabbed for her hand, leading the way out to the front porch, where he paused again to suck in a deep breath of the evening air. "Beautiful night," he declared, slipping his arm mischievously around her waist and tugging her against his side. Again, she let him draw her near, but neatly avoided the kiss she knew was coming by looking out across the street at a couple kids playing catch in the rapidly-gathering dusk. "Allergies aren't bothering you?" He shook his head. "Nah, not too bad. It's the jet lag that's killing me." He grinned, flashing those annoyingly perfect white teeth, and squeezed her playfully where his hand rested on her waist. "I missed you," he murmured, rallying his second romantic attempt and crossing his right hand across her body, clasping it gently in the other so his arms encircled her. He bent his head, brushing a kiss lightly against her cheek and then tilting his face to nuzzle softly toward her lips, his hair falling forward, mingling with hers. She felt herself go limp; her body protested against all logic, wanting to lean into him and let his kiss take her away, quell the pang of loneliness that even now welled up, in remembrance of  recent days, too many of them; he'd been gone, off across the country, across the world. Not here. But he was here now; he missed her, he wanted her...the smell of him was like a drug, intoxicating as he leaned in, slowly tightening his grip about her waist, pressing his slim muscular body against hers. It would be so easy; just forget all the nonsense, foolish words she'd played with in her head while he was away, just relax and let him take her in his arms, love her... and oh god, he knew how to make love.... All of this flashed, in less than a moment's time, but as his lips met hers she drew a sharp, shuddering intake of breath and pushed him away. He blinked, confused, a little hurt, blue eyes shining with the last rays of sun and glinting so perfectly; she felt like she'd just kicked a puppy. 'What?' he mouthed, lips pursed in a puzzled frown. It wasn't too late. Her hand was still on his chest where she'd pushed him back; soft hair pressed against hard muscle underneath the thin cotton of his shirt. She bent her fingers, more than half-tempted to grab hold of the fabric and pull him back, but with a sigh she forced her eyes down, relaxed her hand and let it fall to her side. He drew back uncertainly. "Jon, I... I meant it. We need to talk, okay?" Stop it, stop it, inner reason screamed. It's still not too late. "Well, okay...." He ducked his head, seeking her eyes with his own, touching the tip of her chin with two fingers and trying to gently lift her gaze. She pressed her lips together, kept her chin down determinedly and sat down on the top step, hugging her arms around her knees. "What is it?" he asked. She could hear the puzzled, concerned smile in his voice; heard him kneel beside her; felt his hand on her shoulder. "Am I missing something here?" And that was it, wasn't it? Be strong, she told herself. You can do this. "I've missed you," she whispered, looking stolidly out at the kids across the street. Anywhere but at him. She couldn't bear to look at his face, not now. He scooted closer, sneakers scuffing the edge of the concrete step, and draped his arm across her shoulders. "Well I missed you too, baby," he murmured, his face close enough to press against her hair again. She didn't try to pull away this time; just kept her eyes focused out across the lawn. "But I'm home now... almost a whole month this time. I thought we could, you know, catch up...." The smile took over his voice entirely and she felt his teeth lightly brush the top of her ear. She stood up abruptly and stepped down into the grass. "Jon, I don't think we should see each other anymore." There. It was out. As soon as the words passed her lips she wished she could take them back; she turned, saw him still crouched on the edge of the porch, a look of utter shock slowly fading to hurt on his face. Guilt burned behind her eyes and she blinked rapidly, biting her lip, wiping away a single tear that tried to leak out over her cheek. "Why?" he asked simply, looking up at her with complete innocent confusion, mouth hanging partially open in the wake of the question, his teeth just touching his lower lip. She could still take it back. Say she was joking and he'd forgive her, run to him and he'd take her in his arms. She wanted nothing more in the world than to press against his chest, listen to his heart beating as he held her. "You're home for a month," she heard herself saying instead, the words she'd so carefully memorized tumbling out in an unorganized torrent. "And then where?" She shrugged, guessing, "California? Europe? Japan?" "No, it's a Midwest tour...." "That's not the point, Jon," she cried, throwing her hands up in helpless frustration. "It doesn't matter where. You're GONE. You were gone for three months, and all I could do was sit here and... and miss you, and now you're leaving again, and I'm just supposed to sit here alone for another three months?" She touched a hand to her temple, shutting her eyes briefly to sort through her tumbling thoughts. "Four," he corrected quietly; grimaced to himself as that probably wasn't the best reply he could have mustered. He pushed himself to his feet, but stayed up on the porch, not pressing her. "Baby, you know I don't have any choice," he murmured gently. "I mean, if we want the band to get anywhere we have to tour. We gotta get our music out there...." "I know," she whispered, swallowing hard. She dropped her hand; looked up at him with aching eyes. "I know. But I can't do it anymore, Jon. I'm sorry..." she shook her head inarticulately. "I can't just sit here, night after night, alone, wondering where you are, what you're doing... imagining you having so much fun without me, all those other women...." He was at a loss for words, moving his mouth for several moments before any sound came out. "Dorothea," he managed finally, sounding rather like he was short on air. "...It's not, like that, I... I miss you, I...." he let out his breath in a helpless sigh, pleading her with his eyes. She couldn't stand up against that look. Biting back a sob that came out as a whimper halfway in her throat, she turned away. The kids across the street had gone inside; the streetlights were starting to flicker on, one by one, bathing the near side of the street in their soft glow. "Come with me," his voice interrupted, suddenly very loud and very close again. She spun around startledly; found him right next to her, silhouetted by the nearest lamp, his eyes hidden by the shadow of a fringe of hair. Unable to resist, she reached up to brush it back so she could see his face. "Come with me," he repeated, earnestly, gripping her arms lightly. "You've been out with us before, you can travel with the band, we'll be together-" She sighed and let her forehead rest against his chest. He smelled faintly of soap mixed with sweat, his heart thumping urgently. "I can't, Jon," she murmured, pushing away and trying to step back, but his grip held her. "I can't just throw away my life and run off and join the circus with you. I have things I want to do. I have to be myself; not just... your girlfriend, tagging along." "You know that's not how I think of you," his voice was rough with emotion; his eyes shone oddly in the light from the streetlamp. Tears, though he bit his lip and refused to let them fall. "I know," she whispered, touching his cheek tenderly. He tilted his head, leaning into her hand, and she drew it back again. He gazed at her miserably. "I sat by myself and I thought of all the reasons I had to do this," she said softly. "And all I could come up with was that I missed you so terribly when you were gone; and you're gone so much... and now that you're here all I can think of..." she let out a surprised little silent laugh, bitter irony, "the more I think about how much I've missed you, the harder it is to say goodbye now." "Then don't," he pressed urgently, squeezing her arms tight. "For another month," she nodded. "And then what? You'd be gone again, and I'd be alone, again." They stood there for a silent minute, he as still as a statue, searching her face for the key that would unlock the puzzle, make everything all right again. She regarded him sadly, feeling the desperate strength of his grip slowly leech away as he realized there was nothing he could say. She'd been ready for anger; she thought she'd been ready for pain, but god... anything but the haunted look in his eyes. She wanted to take his face in her hands, brush away the tears that glistened brightly now on his cheeks. She wanted to cradle his head against her breast, bury her face in his hair and tell him everything was all right. "I love you, Jon," she whispered, and his eyes brightened in a brief flash of hope, "and I want you in my life, and I wish..." she had to stop to hold back tears of her own. Wiping a hand across her nose, she sniffed, swallowed the knot in her throat and continued, "I wish it were possible. But you have your own life. You're right; you have to get the band out there. I can't take that away from you by asking you to stay. But I have to have my life too; I can't stand living here in limbo, waiting for you. And I can't go with you." He rallied a last protest, but she stopped him with a finger on his lips. He released his hold on her arms and stood there, limply. Used-up. All the will had just drained completely out of him. "I'm sorry," she heard the words slip past her lips, unbidden. She started forward to hug him, offer him whatever comfort she could, but logic reasserted itself and held her back. It would only make things worse. "I'm sorry," she repeated, stepping back. And again. He could only stand and gaze at her dully. She bit her lip hard and turned away, tasting blood as she started awkwardly off. Out of the pool of lamplight, crossing the street into the comforting darkness beyond. "I love you!" His agonized shout cut through the summer evening, echoed, bouncing off the nearby houses, sliding hot tears down her cheeks. She could have looked back; seen him standing still in the light, arms outstretched in hopeless desperation; seen him sink slowly to his knees and crumple in silent anguish on the grass. She bent her head against the night and kept walking.